


It Only Leads to Trouble

by FagurFiskur



Series: 30 (more) cheesy tropes [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Bets & Wagers, Bottom Dean, Crossdressing, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Top Castiel, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FagurFiskur/pseuds/FagurFiskur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The door slammed, signaling Cas' arrival. Dean smirked from his place on the living room couch, feeling more than a little pleased with himself. Looked like his plan to rile Cas up had worked perfectly.</p><p>He jumped as Cas suddenly appeared in front of him. Cas looked <i>pissed</i>, glowering down at Dean, and for one moment Dean was sure that he was about to either punch him or pin him down to the couch and fuck his brains out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Only Leads to Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> 30 (more) cheesy tropes: #6 Bet
> 
> Title from Touch-A Touch-A Touch Me from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

They had become the boring sort of adults who stayed at home on Friday nights to hang out on the couch rather than going out, and Dean couldn't even say he minded. He had his brother, his best friend, his boyfriend (and wow did it still feel weird to think about Cas that way). Life was good.

"Are you guys always like this?"

But it could be better. Ruby could not be there, for instance.

Dean craned his head upwards, too comfortable to even think about sitting up. Ruby was looking at him and she raised an eyebrow when their eyes met. "Like what?"

"You know," Ruby said, gesturing in the air, "disgustingly sweet."

"Hey!" Dean said, but his indignation was half-assed at best. Cas' fingers had been raking through his hair for the past twenty minutes, his thighs radiating warmth underneath Dean's head, and Dean really couldn't muster up any outrage when he felt this good.

"She has a point," Sam said.

"We're not sweet," Dean muttered.

Charlie snorted. "You totally are. It's like if puppies and kittens could have babies."

"I'm manly, not sweet."

"Of course you are," Cas said serenely, moving his fingers to scratch behind Dean's ear.

Dean leaned into the touch, his protests slipping away before they could form under the gentle assault of Cas' soft scratches. A small, pleased hum escaped him.

"Case in point," Charlie sing-songed.

Dean lazily raised his hand and flipped her the bird.

\---

As much as he tried to forget it, Ruby's stupid comment stuck with Dean. Where the hell did she get off, calling him _sweet_? Dean Winchester was not sweet, he was a dirty-minded, beer-swilling, steak-eating, plaid-wearing, hunting-in-his-spare-time manly _man_.

"What's wrong?"

Dean glanced down at Cas' worried expression. "Huh?"

"You were frowning," Cas said. "Am I doing something wrong?"

He raised his hips, forcing his cock in deeper until it bumped against Dean's prostate. Dean groaned, all thoughts of Ruby momentarily banished from his mind. "Oh, definitely not."

Cas sat up, arms wrapping around Dean's waist to keep him steady. His hips were still moving, grinding upwards in small rolling movements he didn't even seem to be aware of. "What is it, then?"

"Ruby," Dean admitted gruffly.

"You're still thinking about what she said? What does it matter if people think we're sweet?"

"It matters. A lot."

But Cas clearly didn't get it, and for some reason it pissed Dean off. Cas had _never_ had to worry about coming off as girly or sweet, his parents hadn't paid attention either way. Which Dean realized wasn't a good thing, but he'd take that over being called a fairy by his own father any day.

"It's all your fault if people think that, anyway," he added. "You're the touchy-feely one."

Cas gaped up at him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I bet you couldn't go one day without touching me."

"You're telling me this," Cas thrust up, hard enough to cause Dean to choke on his own spit, "is all me?"

Dean huffed. "Maybe not, but the cuddling and shit is definitely all you."

"Really." Cas was glaring at him now. "So you wouldn't mind going without it? Without touching me _at all?"_

Just the thought of it made something seize in Dean's chest, but he pushed the feeling aside and shrugged. "Sure."

"Prove it."

"Prove- what?"

"Prove it," Cas repeated. "You said you bet I couldn't go without touching you. So let's make a bet."

And Dean had _not_ been expecting to be called out on this, but he could tell from Cas' expression that he was completely serious. Like hell was he gonna be the one to back down. "Fine. What do you wanna bet?"

"The dishes," Cas said immediately. "Loser does the dishes for a month."

Cas hated doing the dishes. Dean didn't care either way, and listening to Cas bitch and moan about it for a month didn't sound very appealing. But on the other hand... "All right, loser does the dishes. In the maid uniform."

The maid uniform had been Ruby's idea of a joke. She'd had to wear it for her bachelorette party, a tiny black and white number that barely covered anything. There had been pictures, and Dean may or may not have made merciless fun of her. In retaliation she'd given it to Dean, knowing that Cas wouldn't let him throw out a gift. It had been hanging untouched in their closet ever since.

If ever there was a time for Cas to back out, this would be it. But instead, he narrowed his eyes and said, "It's a bet. From this moment, there will be no touching."

"Not even when we're sleeping," Dean added. "So no cuddling."

"And no making love."

They both fell quiet. Dean was suddenly incredibly aware of Cas' dick still sitting inside him, pulsing softly with every small movement of their hips. "Starting tomorrow?"

Cas nodded eagerly. "Starting tomorrow."

\---

When Dean woke the next morning, sure enough, he woke up alone. He got up, trying to ignore how disconcerting it was not to have Cas with him, and got dressed.

Cas was sitting by the kitchen counter, already eating breakfast. "Good morning, Dean."

He didn't even look up from his newspaper. But that was fine. Dean didn't care. "Morning."

They ate in silence, which wasn't all that unusual for them, but it felt strained this morning instead of comfortable. Cas was determinedly looking away, eyes anywhere but on Dean, while Dean kept his fixed on Cas. Neither one of them would slip up, not this early, but Dean still felt tense and on edge.

He was already regretting the stupid bet. But he wasn't going to be the one to call it off.

\---

**I'm masturbating**

Dean stared at his phone, barely believing his own eyes. It was the start of his lunch break and he'd only meant to check it quickly for any lost calls or new messages, but by now it had to have been at least a minute since he'd picked it up. It was sent from Cas' phone, but it didn't look like anything Cas had ever sent him before. Cas was terrible at dirty talk, and so they'd never even tried sexting.

His phone beeped, shaking Dean from his stupor. A new message.

**I'm at my desk, so I can't take my dick out. But I'm massaging it through my pants**

Cas definitely was _not_ masturbating. He took his job way too seriously to risk losing it like this. But that didn't meant that the image of it didn't spring up in Dean's mind, clear as day. The flush slowly growing in Cas' cheeks, his mouth hanging slightly open, small needy sounds escaping him as he ground the heel of his palm against his cock.

"Fuck," Dean muttered. Then, because there was really nothing else he could do right now, he turned his phone off.

\---

He turned it on again ten minutes later. Five new messages, the last one just a close-up picture of Cas' dick.

Dean ran to the bathroom and angrily jerked off in one of the stalls. Then he got back to work, already planning his revenge.

\---

They decided to take turns sleeping on the couch, since neither wanted to risk accidentally touching the other in their sleep. Dean took the first turn.

The couch wasn't terribly comfortable but Dean eventually drifted off to sleep. He woke up twenty minutes later, startled awake by his own nightmares. He lay there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and fighting to keep his breath even. Of course it figured that the nightmares would come back when Cas wasn't there to chase them away. Dean had always had a difficult time sleeping alone. Ever since he was a kid he'd suffered from night terrors, and Dad hadn't exactly made them better since his preferred method of dealing with them was to tell Dean to man up and tough it out.

Whatever. It didn't change anything. Dean was still gonna win this bet, he would just have to win it faster now so he could go back to sleeping through the night.

\---

So apparently Cas could sext. But he wasn't the only one.

The next day, Dean sent Cas fifty text messages before lunch, each dirtier than the last. When his break finally arrived, he called, certain in the knowledge that Cas wouldn't pick up since his lunch didn't start for another ten minutes. Sure enough, he went straight to voice mail.

"Hey, babe," he muttered, keeping his voice low so it didn't carry beyond the bathroom walls. "Been thinking about you." He palmed himself through his pants. "About what I want you to do to me."

Dean didn't have much time to waste (not nearly as much as he wanted), so he zipped his pants down and got right to it, stroking himself with quick, practiced movements. "Oh, fuck, _Cas."_

Cas wanted to play dirty? They could play dirty.

\---

The door slammed, signaling Cas' arrival. Dean smirked from his place on the living room couch, feeling more than a little pleased with himself. Looked like his plan to rile Cas up had worked perfectly.

He jumped as Cas suddenly appeared in front of him. Cas looked _pissed,_ glowering down at Dean, and for one moment Dean was sure that he was about to either punch him or pin him down to the couch and fuck his brains out.

Neither happened. Instead, Cas went for his zipper and all but tore it down. Then he grabbed his cock and pulled it out, already hard and red and almost as angry-looking as its owner. He started jerking himself off, and Dean could only sit and stare, feeling his own dick starting to harden in response.

It didn't take long for Cas to come and when he did, it was all over Dean's t-shirt.

"Fuck," Dean whimpered, unable to hold it back.

Cas smirked at him, then tucked himself back in his pants and left the room.

\---

Dean didn't get any more sleep in the bed than he did on the couch. The stupid nightmares followed him, startling him awake whenever he managed to drift off.

\---

Cas didn't send him any sexts or voice mails during the day, which Dean was most definitely _not_ disappointed about. But he _was_ curious about how Cas planned to up the ante.

He didn't have to wait for long to find out. By the time he got home from work, Cas was already standing by the kitchen counter. Near as Dean could tell, he was buck naked.

Cas walking around the apartment naked wasn't really a new thing. He sometimes did after showers or on weekend mornings in the summer. It was at the point where Dean hardly noticed anymore.

It was different now. Dean usually didn't mind just looking, but now he could _only_ look. There would be no running his hands down the soft skin of Cas' flanks, no feeling his bony hips underneath his palms as he pulled him close, no pressing himself against Cas' body and feeling his dick harden against his thigh.

Dean clenched his fists, and after a momentary debate with himself, reached for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it off and threw it at Cas, catching his attention.

"You're being childish, Dean," he said dryly.

Dean snorted. "Look who's talking."

He made quick work of the rest of his clothes, and then they were both naked. The absurdity of the situation suddenly hit Dean; the two of them, fully grown men, standing around naked in the middle of the day in a passive-aggressive attempt at winning some stupid bet.

Then Cas got from behind the kitchen counter, stretching his arms above his head as he walked, effectively putting himself on full display, and Dean's moment of clarity was gone as quick as it had appeared. Dean's eyes greedily ran down the length of Cas' body, before he caught himself and turned away.

"Is something wrong?" Cas asked. In any other situation, Dean would have said he sounded genuinely concerned, but this wasn't any other situation and Cas was being a smug little bastard.

"Nothing's wrong," Dean answered, looking around the apartment for some quick source of inspiration.

His eye caught on one of his socks, which hadn't quite hit the couch and had instead fallen to the floor. Throwing a quick glance at Cas to make sure he was looking, Dean bent over to retrieve it. Much to his satisfaction he heard Cas draw a sharp gasp, and he took his time straightening again, practically feeling Cas' eyes burning a hole in his back.

Dean turned back around, smirking when he saw Cas staring at him, chest already flushing and cock starting to fill. "Something wrong?"

It was like a band had snapped. Cas stalked forward and Dean instinctively took half a step back until he hit the wall behind him. He couldn't count the number of times Cas had had him pressed against this wall, but it was enough for him to start hardening in some sort of Pavlovian response.

Cas didn't go quite so far, though, stopping just inches away from Dean. He was close enough so Dean could feel his breath on his face and the heat radiating from his skin, and _fuck_ but Dean wanted to pull him in and close the distance.

He didn't, of course. He still had a bet to win. They both did, but they still pressed as close as they dared, hands reaching down almost simultaneously to grip their cocks. Cas raised his other hand, laid the palm flat against the wall next to Dean's face, so Dean would only need to twitch a little to the side in order to touch it.

It was... weirdly exhilarating. To be trapped like this, not being held down by anything physical but just his own stubborn desire not to touch Cas and lose the bet. There was barely enough room for either of them to jerk off, but they made do with quick, small strokes.

"Dean," Cas whispered, leaning even closer in. _"Dean._ I want-"

Dean's eyes squeezed shut, a small whimper tearing itself from the back of his throat. He _wanted_ too, wanted Cas' hands on his body and his mouth on his cock, wanted Cas' cock pulsing away inside him, filling him so perfectly ( _had it really only been two days since they last fucked, because it felt like a lifetime_ ).

Then Cas groaned, hot sticky wetness hitting Dean's hand and his cock, and there was something so unbearably erotic about the only part of Cas touching him being his _come._ Dean's orgasm hit him _hard,_ punching the breath out of his lungs and causing his hips to buck uncontrollably forward, _almost_ but not quite far enough to bump into Cas.

They were both panting, like they'd run a marathon and not just jerked off for an truly embarrassing short amount of time. Their eyes met and any other time, now they would have surged forward and kissed. Dean was dying to, and he could tell Cas was too.

They were both close to breaking, and Dean wasn't so sure he wouldn't be the one to do it.

\---

He wasn't.

The nightmares didn't get any better the third night. If anything, they got worse, as if punishing Dean for managing to keep them away for so long. Dean woke up twice, half-chocked screams catching in his throat.

The third time, he woke up to the feeling of someone laying down on the couch next to him and wrapping their arms around him.

"I'm sorry," Cas whispered. "I'd forgotten about your nightmares."

"It's fine," Dean muttered, feeling himself blush. "Not your fault."

He felt pathetic. Of course the bet would end like this, with Cas taking pity on him and cuddling him because Dean was too much of a baby to sleep by himself.

"Stop that."

Dean frowned. "Stop what?"

"I can hear you having disparaging thoughts about yourself from here. There is nothing wrong with needing help every once in a while."

"Every night isn't every once in a while!" Dean said.

Cas huffed. "Would you look down on me if I needed this sort of help?"

"No, but-"

"No buts." Cas tugged him closer, burying his nose in Dean's neck. "I lost the bet. That's that."

Dean gave up protesting. It wasn't any use, Cas wouldn't listen to him anyway. Besides, he was tired, and Cas was warm, and even though this couch wasn't really made for two grown people to sleep in, he was too comfortable to even think about moving.

\---

Cas insisted on following the terms of the bet ("I _lost,_ Dean. Now hand me the maid's uniform."). But they hadn't really said anything about Dean being _forbidden_ from helping him. Or from wearing a similarly skimpy nurse's outfit in solidarity.


End file.
